


Learning to Warm Cold Hands

by SinnohRemaker



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2, Super Dangan Ronpa 2.5
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hajime isn’t a huge dick for no reason, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Komaeda Nagito's Luck Cycle, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-game AU, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinnohRemaker/pseuds/SinnohRemaker
Summary: Deep within the throes of what he refused to admit to himself was despair, Komaeda Nagito has completely given up on seeking his own personal happiness. He allows himself to deteriorate until he is miserable and unstable, resigned to his fate of dying a meaningless death due to his illnesses. His sporadic behavior leads him into a chance encounter with a boy from the Reserve Course named Hinata Hajime. They seek comfort in one another, and they form a profound bond that helps them both heal and cope with their own issues in a constructive way.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 14
Kudos: 136





	1. From a Lonely Star

Puffs of warm breath against frigid air escape Nagito’s lips as he sobs as quietly as he can manage and hyperventilates, sitting curled up behind the school in a remote part of the campus. His face was going numb from the bitter chill of the winter winds enveloping his trembling form, but he could still feel the tears sliding down his cheeks. His hands were shaking as he buried them into the pale tresses of his hair and yanked with all of his might, trying to distract himself from his swirling cacophony of thoughts just one brief, infinitesimal second. 

He was sick with guilt, wishing he could bleed himself out at the altar of his own unworthiness. The aftertaste of the bad luck he’d experienced throughout his life was always sweet, but just the idea of existing within such an intrinsically perfect place was so unspeakably hopeful that it was almost cloying, and his mouth reeked of sugary sweet decay. The light that radiated from every single one of his classmates was dazzling and awe-inspiring, and just being allowed within their presence was enough to make him feel dizzyingly faint and weak in the knees. It’s enough to make him pass out from exhilaration, but he’s always sure to drag himself into an empty restroom to lock himself within a stall before losing consciousness. Even in a lightheaded, mentally incoherent state, he was repulsed by the idea of drawing any attention to himself. 

That’s why he bites the meaty part of his palm to muffle his desperate hiccups and sobs as he cries alone behind one of the side buildings in Hope’s Peak. If any of the chosen Ultimates, in all of their splendor, were to see him so pathetically frail and emotionally raw, he’d consume himself inwards in a sea of self-loathing. If he imposed any such burden on one of Hope’s Peak’s shining beacons of goodness and radiance, he’d want to sink into the ground and rot into the soil. Even if they were merely confused by his presence or worried about him, he could never besmirch the glorious light of their hope with his impudent selfishness. 

That’s exactly what it was. Selfishness. He was being so unforgivably selfish in each and every moment he continued to be here, and he could never forgive himself for it. He was in a fortunate position because of his wretched luck, and he was squandering his chance at seeking Ultimate hope by allowing himself to wallow in his own personal misery. The idea of curling up and dying in some unseen part of the campus and allowing himself to decompose into the holy ground of this school was so appealing that it sent a dark thrill up his spine and twisting in his belly. At the very least, his disgusting body would be good for something, feeding into the nutrients of the ground and providing a foundation for some meager, abstract form of hope. 

He sickens himself with the thought of how much the idea of the Ultimates finding his corpse excites him. If he mutilated himself before he succumbed to the eternal nothingness, perhaps they’d see him for what he really was. A crawling curse, an omen of death, an amalgamation of emptiness and misery. He was a patchwork of broken pieces and sharp edges, and he just wanted to deteriorate into ash before he could hurt any of the people he claimed to love and admire. He tried so hard to direct all of that pain inwards, sacrificing everything that he was in the vain hope of uplifting others: a cruel, almost masochistic self-martyrdom. He’d learned to find beauty in his own suffering at a young age, but there was nothing worthwhile that came from bathing in his own inconsequential despair. He could not turn the relentless ache within himself into art, or pour it into a passion, or meticulously analyze until it came apart. All he could do was internalize it, and revel in his loneliness and isolation until he found a home in it, in order to avoid inflicting it on others. 

He was hurting in a way that was both agonizing and cyclical: the more he allowed himself to suffer, the greater became the burden of the pain he imposed upon himself. But it was his burden to bear, and he found fleeting comfort in the fact that he was alone in both life and in death, and that he wasn’t dragging anyone down with him. He was the patron saint of his own anguish, and he would steer his luck away from others until it brought him to his demise. 

A heaving sob breaks from his dry, cracked lips, and he slaps his palm over his mouth to silence his disgraceful bawling. His knuckles have gone completely white and his fingertips have lost all sensation, but he couldn’t allow himself a shred of solace in his self inflicted crucifixion. He was only wearing his school uniform, depriving himself of jackets, mittens, hats, and other things that would protect him from the cold. Maybe he’d lose a finger to frostbite, maybe he’d go into hypothermic shock, and maybe he’d freeze to death out here. As long as nobody else had to suffer, it didn’t matter. 

In his imagination, he often entertained the idea of killing himself, but he’d never be greedy enough to be an active participant in fulfilling his own desires. If he truly needed to die, the universe would conspire to bring him to his grave, and he could have no active hand in his own undoing. That didn’t stop him from indulging in invigorating, almost artful fantasies about his suicide, however. He’s somewhat enamored by the idea of hanging himself in his dorm, overdosing himself in one of the bathrooms, or putting a bullet in his head in the school’s gardens, but he’s deeply, madly in love with the idea of throwing himself off the roof of Hope’s Peak, right before classes start. He shivers with morose exhilaration as he imagines the look of shock, horror, and pity on the faces of the Ultimates as his body hits the pavement. 

And truly, that’s the gravest sin of all. Wanting to mean something to them, to impact their lives with his existence. He wants nothing more desperately than to become a stepping stone for the sake of their hopes, but that would mean he’d have to be a person of no consequence. He clashes with himself as he weeps behind the school, mourning the person he could have been if he weren’t sick like this. Sick with admiration, shame, and discontent. If he tried to attach himself to one of the Ultimates, leeching off of their hope and burning himself alive like a moth to a flame, he’d taint them with his inherent worthlessness. 

And he winces as he remembers how hard he had cried, open, trembling sobbing into his hands, when he’d received his Hope’s Peak acceptance letter from one of the school’s officials, even with the needle of an IV still embedded within the skin of his arm. Those had been tears of joy, of a hope so immense and overwhelming that he couldn’t contain his emotions within any aspect of his earthly vessel. And now, here he was, stewing in despair with his back pressed against the cold brick wall of his dream school, and he was still disconsolate. 

He finds a nauseating complacency in the knowledge that he’ll probably die within the span of a few months. He likes to pretend he’s made peace with it, but the mere thought of dying a meaningless death is enough to send him into a melancholic downward spiral. He had yearned to die with purpose for his entire pathetic life, but all he could do is curl up in a ball and cry knowing that either his illnesses would kill him, or he would end up dying by his own hand. He’d made no impact on the lives of anyone around him, and nobody would care enough to mourn for him after he was gone. 

Everyone he’d ever been close to was gone. Nobody would miss him if he just dropped dead, at any given point in time. Would anybody even notice that he was no longer alive? Would anyone even hold a funeral for him? He would disappear without leaving a mark, without uplifting the world’s hope, and he would die miserable, lonely, and unfulfilled.

It was terrifying to think about how his illnesses were corroding him from the inside out, and he was wasting away without anyone knowing how much pain he was in. He didn’t want anyone else at Hope’s Peak to know, but it was almost as inevitable as the looming specter of death itself, hanging over him like a shadow. Once his health had deteriorated to a certain extent, he wouldn’t be able to attend school anymore, and he’d need a caretaker. He can’t stand the thought of imposing such a burden on anyone. He hopes that his mental faculties are functioning well enough to throw himself into oncoming traffic before it ever gets to that point. 

Maybe he can just stop taking all of his medications and hope the shock of withdrawal kills him. Maybe he can try drown himself in his dorm bathtub, or lethally poison himself, or lock himself in a broom closet somewhere and starve himself to death, or try out some new method of suicide that hasn’t previously failed him. Maybe he’ll be able to convince someone else to kill him. He’s enraptured by the idea of being brutally murdered by one of the Ultimates. It’s a selfish, almost perverse fantasy of his, but he loves imagining, in vivid detail, an Ultimate strangling him to death. Broad shoulders and wild eyes, muscular hands wrapped around his skinny throat, and he basks in the idea of making physical contact with an Ultimate, even if they’re killing him. It’s more than he deserves, anyways. 

His teeth are chattering, and he can’t feel anything but the dull sting of frigid numbness in his fingers. As more tears roll down his sunken cheeks, he bitterly thinks to himself that maybe he really will die out here. It would be a fitting death for him, dying alone and unseen, freezing to death while hiding in the shadow of the academy he admired so much. Maybe he could just lock himself inside the incinerator a few dozen feet away from him and wait for someone to turn it on. It would be an agonizing way to die, and he longs for pain and self-punishment almost as much as he longs for hope. 

As a pitiful whimper escapes from the back of his throat, he realizes that even this is selfish of him. He would only be committing suicide for the sake of freeing himself of pain, and not for the sake of inspiring a dazzling, beautiful hope. He finds a depraved excitement in imagining the looks of pity and sympathy in the eyes of the Ultimates once they saw how thoroughly he had destroyed himself. Perhaps there was something poetic in that; dying so gruesomely by his own hand that he could make those worth more than he could ever possibly deserve feel sorry for him. 

Regardless, no matter how he looked at it, he was still soiling the shining, exquisite perfection embodied by the Ultimates and their talents, and he was imposing his own useless desires on them. He was a waste of space no matter what he did, or from what angle he examined the situation. He just wanted people to feel something for him other than disgust or disinterest. His own longing for some semblance of condolence from this cycle of torment seeped through in his every action, his every word, his every thought; which was the transgression that brought about his downfall. There was nothing he could do, he would always be this insignificant, shambling mess of a person, a despicable and empty husk of a living thing, that didn’t even deserve to exist in the same capacity as the Ultimates; let alone breathe their air and pollute their sublime, radiant talents. 

He might be able to redeem himself a little bit if he hurt himself. Not in a way that he enjoyed, but in a way that made him repulsed with himself and rendered him inconsolable, and in a state of absolute agony. There was beauty in pain, but he would bleed himself until there was none and the sting of the razor blade against his skin made him want to throw up. He couldn’t leave deep scars where anyone else could see, or get blood everywhere, or cut deep enough that he passed out. He didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, but the more he ran through the possibilities in his head, the more he realized that he couldn’t suffer in absolute silence. He’d end up tarnishing the treasured hopes of this wonderful academy, and the guilt would follow him into the afterlife he didn’t even believe in. 

He stifles a loud, frustrated scream by biting the back of his hand, trying to smother the noise as well as he could. His eyes were screwed shut as more tears began to cascade down his face, and he could scarcely control his rapid breathing. He sniffles and rubs at his nose, gasping and heaving as he chokes on his sobs. He can hear the sound of footsteps crunching through the frost-hardened, withered brown grass, but he barely registers it over the ringing in his ears. He keeps his eyes screwed shut in a fruitless attempt to stop the steady flow of tears gushing down his face. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

An unfamiliar voice. Nagito blinks his eyes open, huffing out a sigh as he tries to calm his breathing. He looks them up and down, and it notes that it appears to be a young man with short brown hair, and lightly tanned skin; a student that he had never met before. He’s dressed in a Reserve Course uniform, but he also has a heavy parka draped over his shoulders, a hat and scarf, as well as gloves. 

“S-stay away from me. I w-want to b-be left alone.” 

Nagito wheezes, his voice broken and unsteady from all of the crying. The other boy’s eyes soften, face crinkling in a concerned, patient smile. 

“Are you sure? It’s really cold out here, and you seem really upset.” 

He asks sweetly, extending his hand to Nagito, who was still curled up on the ground. Nagito feels his stomach flip and his heart twist, his mind reminding him of his inherent worthlessness yet again, like a broken record. He couldn’t even hide his pain from some random Reserve Course student, how deeply, fittingly pathetic of him. 

“Leave m-me alone, please. I’m not worth g-getting involved with.” 

Nagito whimpers, hugging his knees to his chest and trying to hunch his body even smaller. The brunet hums quietly and shakes his head. 

“I don’t really know you, but I’m sure that’s not true. I heard you crying, and I’d feel really bad if I left you out here in the cold.” 

He assured, kneeling down so he could be eye level with the white-haired boy.

“Don’t waste your t-time. I don’t want the help of some Reserve Course student anyways...”

He mumbles, trying to hide how much he was shaking and struggling to breathe. The brunet winces, but still looks at him with soft, sympathetic eyes. 

“That was uncalled for, but I’m not just going to leave you here. It’s seriously unsafe.” 

The brown-haired boy peers expectantly down at him with warm hazel eyes, and Nagito feels revolted at the kindness he’d done nothing to earn. He didn’t deserve a speck of happiness, but when he sees the other student looking at him with no malice behind his expression, just gentle concern, his resolve cracks and he reaches up to grab his hand. The brunet helps him onto his feet, keeping him steady as he sways a little bit. 

“There, there, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll take you somewhere warm.” 

The Reserve Course student wraps one arm around Nagito’s shoulder to help prop him upright as he walks, as he was stumbling on shaky legs. He then slips one arm out of his parka and drapes it partially over Nagito, huddling close to him to try and spread warmth. 

“I know you’re in the main course, but my dorm is pretty close by, so I’m gonna take you there instead. Is that okay?” 

He asks cautiously, pulling the albino’s trembling body close. Nagito nods feebly, closing his eyes and continuing to cry silently as they walk to the Reserve Course dorms. The slightly shorter boy leads him to his dorm room, which is a small kitchen connected to a bedroom with a dingy queen sized bed. Nagito supposes it’s much smaller and less extravagant than the main course dorm, but at least it’s warm. 

“I’m going to make you something to eat so you’ll feel better, okay?” 

The brunet murmurs, getting two packs of cheap ramen out of the cupboard and glancing at Nagito as he seats himself at their kitchen table. He shucks off his heavy coat and carefully removes his hat, scarf and gloves in order to set them on the table, then peers at Nagito expectantly.

“Thank you...” 

Nagito croaks, then buries his face in his hands and begins crying with renewed intensity. 

“Hey now, please don’t cry anymore. I’m going to do everything in my power to help you out, I promise. It’s going to be alright.” 

Nagito shakes his head feebly and wipes at his tear stained face. 

“Why? Wh-who are you? Why are you even d-doing this?” 

He asks, still struggling to speak through his sobs. After setting a pot of water to boil, the other boy rushes to his side and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m Hinata Hajime. And I’m doing this because I got really worried when I saw you crying all by yourself out in the frigid cold. It would really weigh down on my consciousness if I just ignored you.” 

Hajime explains slowly, speaking in a tone of voice that makes Nagito feel like a child again. Nagito pauses momentarily, then speaks up again, his voice a little more confident. 

“Hinata... Hajime? You’re friends with Nanami-san, aren’t you?” 

He asks, recalling that he’d heard Chiaki mention that name a few times. Hajime nods, an easygoing smile lighting up his features. 

“Yeah, why? Do you know her?”

Hajime questions, his eyes twinkling just a bit. Nagito takes a deep breath, trying to speak a bit more clearly.

“She’s in my homeroom class. You two are f-friends, right?” 

Hajime grins sheepishly, pulling Nagito a bit closer to him by the hand. 

“Yep! I don’t think she’s mentioned you before, though. What’s your name?” 

Nagito chuckles without any humor, a fresh tear rolling down his cheek. 

“I’m Komaeda Nagito. I’m not too surprised that she hasn’t m-mentioned me before, don’t worry about it.”

Hajime rests his hand against the skin of Nagito’s neck, checking for temperature. 

“It’s nice to meet you and all, but you still seem really cold, so I’m going to get you a blanket. Is that alright?” 

A few more stray tears drip down Nagito’s face, and he nods with an exhausted smile. Hajime runs and fetches a fluffy fleece blanket and carefully wraps him in it, making sure that he’s fully enveloped in softness before returning to attend to the ramen. Nagito sits down at the kitchen table and silently watches Hajime cook, marveling in the remaining feeling of Hajime’s warm, soft hand pressing against his neck and stifles any further thoughts before he can dwell on them. 

“The ramen is almost ready. It’s chili flavor, is that okay with you?”

Hajime asks in a low tone of voice, those compassionate hazel eyes fixating squarely on him. Nagito flinches almost instinctively, but begins to nod slowly. 

“Thank you so m-much...”

He whispers, before clapping a hand over his mouth to conceal a loud sob. He shifts in his chair, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself.

“Take it easy, okay? I know you’re still pretty emotional, but you need to eat something and warm yourself up first. You could get sick...” 

Hajime’s voice is laced with genuine worry, and it makes Nagito feel utterly repulsed with himself. He feels like he hasn’t endured enough pain to have earned any sort of relief, and the fact that he’s allowing himself to be reliant on some Reserve Course student he’s never even met before makes him feel even worse. He bites his lip in order to stifle his obnoxious weeping, and his fingers find themselves back within the snowy white locks of his hair and tug, hard.

Hajime sets down the bowl of ramen that he’s preparing and rushes over to Nagito’s side, crouching so he can be at eye level. Once he meets Hajime’s gaze and sees the concern flickering in his eyes, he chokes out a heaving sob and scrunches his eyes shut, tears pouring down his face and dripping everywhere. His nails dig into his scalp, his head starting to spin so fast that he scarcely even registers the dizziness. He can’t believe how deeply deplorable he is. He’s allowed himself to sink so far, to become such a burden. All he’s doing is taking up too much space and wasting the time of someone who’s practically a stranger to him. It would have been so much better if he’d actually mustered up the energy to try and kill himself again, because he couldn’t impose such a hindrance on anyone if he was dead. 

Suddenly, he feels warm hands gripping his wrists, cautiously easing his hands out of his hair. He stares at Hajime with wide, watery eyes, watching him in an almost detached manner as he gently pulls at the cuffs of his blazer, almost as if he was asking permission. The brunet clasps his gentle fingers around his pale, shaking hands and coaxes them away from his head entirely. Nagito blinks, even more tears spilling over as Hajime tenderly folds his hands in his lap, then reaches up to wipe at his eyes. Nagito instinctively leans into the touch, so Hajime allows his hand to linger on his cheek for a while longer. 

“Breathe. Just breathe. Nice and steady. In and out, in and out.” 

Hajime instructs, a soothing lull to his voice that’s almost hypnotic. Nagito obeys to the best of his ability, but each breath that he draws sounds like a painful rasp, and there’s still an excruciating tightness in his lungs. Hajime shifts his hand slightly, tucking a stray white curl behind his ear and stroking it delicately. Nagito closes his eyes and concentrates on the sensation of his hair being caressed, and feels his breathing slowly begin to even out. The crying doesn’t stop, but he feels like he can breathe freely again. 

“There you go. Just keep breathing. That feels better, doesn’t it? I’m here, it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.” 

Nagito can feel a particular emotion that he can’t quantify seize him once he hears those words, and he flings himself at Hajime, forgetting himself momentarily and wrapping his arms around his chest. The self loathing hits him a split second after he does it, but he doesn’t try to pull back and distance himself after being so shamefully weak and vulnerable because good God, he needs this so bad. 

“Woah...”

Hajime murmurs, embracing Nagito tightly and shushing him as he starts bawling so hard that it sounds painful. Nagito’s body heaves and his frail form is wracked with coughs and spasms, and he tries to choke out some semblance of an apology. 

“I-I’m s-so-sorryyyy...”

He stammers out, nuzzling his head against Hajime’s torso as the other boy begins to pet his hair. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s okay, I promise. I’ve got you.” 

Hajime reassures, pressing him close and keeping his arms wrapped tightly around his trembling form. Nagito sighs against him, focusing all of his energy into regulating his breathing. Once he falls into a steady rhythm, he pulls away from Hajime, feeling ashamed of himself as he vigorously wipes his eyes.

“I-I’m sorry, I cried all over you. I’ll just-“ 

“Relax, it’s okay. Eat something, and then we can talk about it if you want.” 

Hajime whispers, handing him the bowl of ramen that is thankfully still warm. He nods as Hajime sets it on the table, and he begins to eat, occasionally pausing to dab at the few stray tears that fall. It feels so good to have something in his stomach, and it makes him realize that it’s been quite a while since he’s had a proper meal, or even eaten anything at all. He sets the utensils down and pushes the bowl away once he’s finished eating, and looks up to see Hajime giving him a patient smile. 

“Do you feel any better?” 

He asks, placing an encouraging hand on his shoulder. 

“I do feel somewhat better. Thank you, I really-“

“Don’t mention it. It’s what any decent person would have done.” 

Hajime beams, sounding both happy and relieved. His fingers briefly skim against his forehead, brushing away damp wisps of his white hair. 

“Do you still want to talk about it? I’m not the best at dealing with stuff like this, but I want to do everything I can to help you.”

Nagito is almost stupefied.

“I would r-really appreciate that. You’re umm... actually pretty g-good at this. If you don’t mind having me around, that is. I’ve already imposed so much on you, I’d hate to be even more of a nuisance.” 

Hajime frowns at this, his brows creasing and arms folding disapprovingly.

“Don’t say things like that! Of course I don’t mind, I wouldn’t do this if it bothered me. And besides, I’m only half-decent at this because I’ve picked up a thing or two from hanging around Tsumiki.” 

Hajime insists, doing his best to sound humble. Nagito smiles faintly, but he’s overcome with another tumbling wave of sadness. 

“You’re friends with Tsumiki-san?”

Nagito asks, his voice still raw from all of the crying. Hajime shrugs nonchalantly. 

“She’s more of an acquaintance, really. She’s much better friends with Chiaki than me, but we still talk every now and then. She’s honestly so impressive at what she does. I’ve seen her work before, she’s truly amazing.” 

Another tear falls as he listens to Hajime talk, and Hajime hands him a napkin from off of the table to clean his face with.

“Tsumiki-san really is incredible. I feel so blessed that I’m able t-to watch her talent in action on a regular basis. She’s a genius in her f-field.” 

Nagito whispers, wiping fruitlessly at the tears gathered beneath his eyes as even more begin to well up. 

“She’s a bit clumsy and quite neurotic, but once she gets into the zone, you wouldn’t even be able to tell. Once I saw a girl have an anxiety attack in the halls as classes were changing, and she immediately dropped everything she was doing to work her magic. She talked her through it, and was able to help her come back down from it until the Ultimate Pharmacist, uhm, I think her name is Kimura, was able to bring her some meds.” 

Nagito is mesmerized as he listens to Hajime talk, deeply immersed in his words. Clearly, Hajime loves and admires talent just as much as he does. 

“That’s wonderful. The hope Tsumiki-san embodies is t-truly beautiful.” 

Nagito sniffles, wincing a little bit as Hajime grabs his hand. 

“Are you and Tsumiki close? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind helping you out, and she's much better at this than I could ever be.” 

Hajime inquires, holding Nagito’s pale, chilly hand with almost loving gentleness.

“N-no!” 

Nagito blurts out, panic crashing over him. Hajime quirks a brow at this, clutching his hand tightly as if to ground him. 

“U-uhh, I mean, I could never impose such a tremendous b-burden on her. I don’t really know her that well anyways, I would hate to-“ 

“Relax, it’s fine. Do you have any friends that could help you out? I don’t mind it, but it’s probably weird to talk with some guy you barely even know.” 

Nagito giggles bitterly, without any mirth or humor. 

“N-no, I don’t.” 

He mumbles, eyes trailing to the floor. Hajime squeezes his hand a little bit, flashing him a sympathetic look. 

“Oh, I’m sorry... What about your family?” 

Nagito sobs audibly at this, shaking his head solemnly. Hajime hugs him gingerly, like he’s afraid that touching him will upset him further. 

“It’s alright, I’m here. Even if it’s not much, I’ll do my best to help you feel better. Do you want to sit down on the bed?” 

“Y-Yeah...” 

Nagito stammers, secretly hoping that Hajime won’t let him go. Hajime stands up and guides him over to the bed by the hand, helping him sit down with such attentive care, almost like Nagito is a fragile porcelain doll that he doesn’t want to break. Nagito wonders if this is the universe showing him mercy, or if it’s just preparing him for even more bad luck in the near future. 

“Uhmm... do you mind if I, uhh-“ 

Nagito attempts to ask something, but finds himself stammering and fumbling with his words. Hajime tilts his head to the side. Wincing, Nagito leans a little closer to Hajime, hoping he’ll pick up on the signal. Hajime takes a second to process it, but opens his arms and wraps Nagito in a relaxing hug, and Nagito can’t help but sigh as he sinks into the embrace. His lashes flutter as his eyes draw closed, and he nestles his head into the brunet’s torso and settles his body across his lap. 

“You’re so nice...” 

Nagito mumbles against the fabric of his uniform blazer, feeling serene. Hajime cradles his head against his lap and begins to pet his hair. Nagito fails to suppress a contented gasp at the sensation of gentle fingers stroking through the messy white locks. 

“It’s the least I could do, don’t worry about it.”

Hajime whispers, a peaceful smile gracing his lips. Nagito is thankful, but it makes him feel a little uneasy for some reason he can’t place. 

“I really don’t deserve this...” 

He whimpers, his voice hushed and exhaustion evident in his tone. Even if he wasn’t an Ultimate, he was obviously a good person with a kind heart. Nagito couldn’t help but worry about dragging this compassionate stranger down with him, and hurting him with his luck. If Nagito let his guard down enough to allow himself to feel hopeful, or even a little happy, his bad luck could blight Hajime with its curse. He wishes he could find it within himself to bring it up, but Hajime’s slender fingers feel so pleasant against his scalp, playing with strands of his hair. He really is selfish.

“Komaeda, I know next to nothing about you, but I’m sure that’s not true. You deserve to be treated well, just like anyone else.” 

Nagito giggles a little bit at this, even if it hurts his throat. 

“I don’t even w-wish that were true. I don’t deserve anything.”

He rasps, shifting back a little bit as Hajime begins to undo the buttons of his blazer, tossing it haphazardly on the floor and leaving only his white button up. 

“Anything? That’s an awful way to think, you know.”

Hajime whispers, still petting his hand through Nagito’s hair. Despite himself, Nagito’s arms wrap around his waist, and he shudders a little bit at the guilt and satisfaction it brings him. Being so close to someone is absolutely wonderful, but he still feels shame and remorse in the knowledge that he’s being so utterly pathetic. A few more tears soak into Hajime’s lap. 

“It doesn’t matter. I’m f-fully aware that it’s unhealthy, b-but it’s not like scum like me deserves even a little bit better. I’m not worth anything.” 

He mutters, whimpering loudly when Hajime begins rubbing comforting circles into his back. 

“That’s horrible! How can you even say that? Of course you’re worth something, everyone is!”

Hajime blurts, clenching onto him tightly and drawing him closer. Hajime gives his hair another absentminded stroke, and Nagito nuzzles his head against his hand, lapping up the attention despite his brain demanding that he reject it. 

“I really am j-just a waste of space. I don’t belong here. I have no right to mingle with the talented as if I was one of them, and bask in their hope...”

He sniffs, stifling a delighted shudder as Hajime traces idle patterns along the small of his back with his fingertips. The contrast between the icy coldness he had been subjecting himself to and the warmth he was currently reveling in was so stark it was almost jarring. 

“But aren’t you a Main Course student?”

Hajime asks, sounding thoroughly perplexed. Nagito laughs until his lungs start to feel dry, and his wheezing is broken by a sharp cough followed by a series of hiccuping sobs. 

“I d-don’t deserve that title. I’m just disgusting garbage, a talentless piece of human filth. I’m not here because I possess any real talent, I'm just Super High School Level Luck.”

Nagito croaks, every couple of words punctuated by painful sounding gasps. Hajime reaches over and grabs a water bottle from off of his nightstand, handing it to him. 

“Here, drink something, try to breathe. You think you don’t deserve to be here, even though you’re Ultimate Luck? Do you realize how many people in the Reserve Course would do anything to be in your position? The board of the academy is studying your good fortune, so it’s worth something to them.” 

There’s a lull to Hajime’s voice as he speaks, and it’s so soothing. Nagito sits up and gingerly sips at the water, easing the ache in his parched throat. 

“I r-realize I’m being unappreciative. It’s impudent for an insignificant piece of trash like me to be s-so ungrateful when I’m in a place that represents such marvelous hope. But I’m sullying the glorious hope exuded by this academy just by being here, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. The other Ultimates will g-go on to do great things and change the world some day. I will just endlessly drown in my own self-indulgent misery and die forgotten.” 

He rambles losing his grip on his thoughts before the sight of Hajime’s worried hazel eyes looking down at him snap him back to reality. 

“So what, you think that only the Ultimates have any worth at all? Do you really think that innate talent is everything? Then what about...”

Hajime trails off, lip wobbling and expression troubled. 

“I know that I’m not worth anything, with absolute certainty. Talent isn’t everything, but it is the purest source of absolute hope, and the world would be nothing without that hope. Hope is the only thing I have left to g-guide me. And I don’t even have the strength to inspire it. I don’t have the ability to create what I strive for the most because I was b-born worthless, born ruined.” 

Nagito trails off for a moment, swallowing thickly. His eyes are starting to burn from how much he’s been crying, but he doesn’t really care.

“And I know you’re in the Reserve Course, but at least you’re kind. My existence isn’t anything worthwhile.”

Nagito breathes, his words barely audible. Hajime cups his face in his hands, forcing him to make eye contact. Hajime’s palms are so soft against his skin, cautiously wiping his tears away. His cheeks are beginning to flush at the contact, but he can’t bring himself to look away. 

“I’m sure none of that is true. I don’t think your worthless, or scum, or anything like that. I’m certain you’re not a bad person.” 

Hajime soothes, his dark lashes lowering over his bright hazel eyes as his smiles sympathetically at Nagito. In an instant, Nagito’s face crumples, and he resumes sobbing hysterically again. 

“All I e-ever do is hurt people! How c-can you say that?!” 

He wails, trying to reign in his volume in the midst of all of his misery. His sorrow is so intense that it makes his chest ache with a throbbing pain that settles somewhere behind his ribs. In his delirium, his fingers began to twitch with a desire to harm himself, to dig his nails into his skin and scratch until blood wells up, but he could never do that with Hajime watching.

“I’d be b-better off dead. I’m irredeemably awful in every single way p-possible. I’m completely unlovable, an absolute waste of space. I feel t-terrible all the time, and it’s all my stupid fault. I don’t deserve to be in a place like this, I could never belong somewhere so b-beautiful. I should just die forgotten and alone like I deserve.” 

Nagito knows he’s rambling, but he’s only vacantly aware of the expression of horror and concern that Hajime is wearing. He only pauses his mantra to take a heaving breath, but he feels Hajime wrap his arms around him again and hold him tightly, rocking him back and forth while rubbing his shoulders. He whispers kind sweet nothings into his ear, reassuring him that he isn’t awful or deserving of pain. 

“I don’t want you dead. Nobody does. You’re worth more than you realize, I’m sure of it. You don’t deserve to be in pain.”

He says, his voice sounding so sweet that it’s almost saccharine. Nagito buries his face into the crook of his neck, thinking about how it’s amazing, so absolutely wonderful, to be treated like he’s not disgusting filth, an infinitesimal speck of dust lost within the radiant sheen of the hope represented by the Ultimates. He starts to hum softly as he cradles him like a baby, warbling a tune with no melody for only Nagito to hear. 

“It’s going to be alright.” 

He promises, and Nagito finally senses that his tears are beginning to run dry. He’s hit with an immediate wave of fatigue, suddenly registering how exhausted he is. He slumps against Hajime, groaning something incomprehensible and closing his eyes. Hajime carefully leans them back against the headboard so that they’re both laying down, helping him settle across the bed. 

“I’m sure you’re tired. Get some rest, I’ve got you.” 

Nagito curls against Hajime’s side, only distantly aware of what he’s doing as he cuddles up next to him and drapes his arms over his torso. He wants to thank him, but he’s already drifting off to sleep, not even fully cognizant of his own thoughts. The last thing he’s aware of is Hajime drawing the covers over them both, before he slips into a quiet lull of unconsciousness.


	2. No Need For Dreaming

Nagito finds himself shifting through pleasant darkness, reveling in the peacefulness of a dreamless sleep. He can feel his body curl against something warm, and he hears himself sigh distantly. He slowly blinks himself awake, a slight jolt of fear running through him when he registers the unfamiliar setting. Relief crashes over him as he remembers how he ended up at Hajime’s place, and he gingerly pulls himself into a sitting position. He yawns and rubs at his eyes, noticing that he’d positioned himself incredibly close to Hajime while he was sleeping, which was a little embarrassing. As soon as he composes himself, Hajime flashes him a cheerful smile, setting a book that he’d been reading down on his lap. 

“I hope you slept well. Are you feeling any better?” 

Hajime asks sweetly, concern glimmering in his bright hazel eyes. The covers shift and rustle as the brown haired boy leans a little closer to him, and Nagito almost hesitates before moving back to leave a demure space between them. 

“I slept well, umm... Thank you.” 

Nagito mumbles, averting his gaze. He feels deeply ashamed of himself, having taken so much of Hajime’s time and falling asleep in his bed. He considers himself incredibly lucky that Hajime has put up with him for so long, as he is painfully aware of the fact that it is a challenging task to endure his abhorrent presence. He must have the patience of a saint. 

“I’m glad, you seem much more relaxed now.” 

Hajime shoots him a wide, toothy grin; a radiant smile that does complicated things to his heart. Nagito dismisses the thought the moment it enters his head, reminding himself not to act like an embarrassment in front of someone who’d been so kind to him. 

“I really needed that. I guess I haven’t been sleeping or eating well lately...” 

Nagito admits, his lip quivering as Hajime’s expression softens into a concerned frown. 

“That’s what I figured. You really ought to take better care of yourself.” 

Hajime scolds, his tone still exceedingly sympathetic. Nagito feels his chest tighten and lowers his head reflexively, guilt prickling low in his belly. 

“I’m sorry...”

He whimpers, already feeling his mind begin to drown in a sea of self loathing thoughts. Hajime reaches up to tuck some of his white hair behind his ear and cradles his chin in his hand, forcing him to maintain eye contact. 

“Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry for. I just don’t want you to be in that much pain ever again, albeit physical or emotional. Nobody deserves to suffer like that.” 

Nagito wants to object, but Hajime’s hand lingers on his cheek, and he can’t help but close his eyes and lean against the warmth of his palm. 

“You really are a nice person.”

Nagito breathes, lashes fluttering as Hajime strokes a thumb across his cheek. The brunet simply giggles and shrugs his shoulders. 

“I just do what I can to help people. It’s really not much.” 

As Hajime retracts his hand, Nagito can’t help but notice the way his nose crinkles as he smiles, and the way that slight dimples form on his cheeks. Nagito is hit with the urge to hug him tightly and hold him close, but he banishes the thought with a shake of his head and a swish of white hair. 

"I appreciate it, but I shouldn’t take up anymore of your time...”

Nagito trials off, his gaze shifting to the book resting on Hajime’s lap, instantly recognizing the cover. 

“You’re reading the Divine Comedy?”

He asks, his lips quirking upwards into a smile without him realizing it. Hajime cocks his head, gawking slightly. 

“Yeah, why?”

“Fascinating, isn’t it? I picked it up myself a number of years ago, and I’ve read through it a few times. It provides such a unique insight into the religious ideal of divine punishment, and it’s really shaped our society’s perception of Catholicism. I really like the way Alighieri frames his narrative, and I like the way the poetry is structured and I-oh! I’m so sorry. I’m rambling, I deeply apologize.”

Nagito cuts himself off, hiding his face in his hands and mentally reprimanding himself for babbling like an obnoxious creep. Hajime simply gives him a quizzical stare.

“I really don’t mind, I promise.”

Hajime murmurs, gripping at one of his wrists and clasping their fingers together. 

“Are you interested in literature?”

Nagito questions, letting out a blissful sigh as Hajime squeezes his hand absentmindedly. Being allowed this close to someone is so unbelievably nice, it almost feels like a dream. 

“I’m not super into it, I’m just reading this for a class. You seem really knowledgeable about it, though. You must be pretty smart.” 

Nagito immediately flushes at the compliment, too shocked and flattered to even attempt to deflect it. He’s practically beaming with joy at this point, but he winces when he realizes that is making him feel way too happy. It would be unforgivably selfish if he risked potentially harming Hajime through his wretched luck, so he figured that he’d have to leave as soon as he could. 

“I do know a few things, but I’d hate to take up any more of your time. You’ve already done so much for me, I don’t want to bother you any longer.”

Nagito replies hurriedly, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing up rather shakily. 

“You aren’t bothering me.”

Hajime murmurs, his expression souring and his brows creasing. 

“Ah, well-umm... it is rather late, so I should be getting back to my own dorm.” 

Nagito blurts out, frantically trying to excuse himself without seeming rude. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to keep you. You should probably try to get some more sleep when you get back to your dorm, but before you go...” 

Hajime fishes his phone out of one of his pockets, swiftly unlocking it. 

“We should exchange numbers. I’d like to check in on you again later, if that’s alright with you.” 

Nagito nods readily, eager to exit this conversation and steer himself back on the path of some bad luck. Nagito puts his number in Hajime’s phone, and Nagito writes down Hajime’s on a slip of paper, so he’ll recognize the number when he texts him later. 

“Take it easy, Komaeda. I’ll see you around.”

Nagito bows and thanks him one more time as he heads out the door, exhaling heavily as he closes it behind him. He’s still high off the elation of somebody being so incomprehensibly nice to him, and he can’t help but lean against his door and puff out a quivering sigh. He notices that it’s already dark out, which means that he must have been asleep for quite a long time. 

Nagito walks back to his dorm under a blanket of stars, shivering as he watches his warm breath condense the minute it touches the frigid air. He briefly ponders harming himself when he gets back to his dorm to balance out his luck cycle, but ultimately decides against it. He’ll probably knock over a nest of wasps later, or trip and fall down a flight of stairs, or maybe even get hit by a car. He was able to get himself away from Hajime before he started feeling too overjoyed in his presence, so he won't need to instigate his own misfortune to keep the other boy safe. 

He arrives at his dorm within a few minutes, but finds that the door is locked. Nagito’s hands are shaking as they fumble with the spare key to his dorm that he keeps under his front door mat, and shuffles inside. He shucks off his clothes the moment he enters his room, and puts them in the washing machine so they’ll be clean for later. He momentarily considers taking a shower, before realizing that he’s too tired, and he doesn’t want to risk falling asleep and drowning himself. Although he supposes that he wouldn’t mind dying like that, it would be a pretty pointless death. He changes into his pajamas and flops onto his bed, wrapping his limbs around a pillow and squeezing it close to him. 

He presses the pillow against his chest, his eyes fluttering closed as the silken fabric slides against his skin. He relaxes into the mattress and counts his breathing, trying to lull himself into unconsciousness, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Despite the bed in his dorm room being much more spacious and comfortable, he finds himself shivering and burying his face into the blanket, sleep continuing to evade him. 

He’s tangled in layers of blankets and bedsheets, but he still feels an abstract, yet distinct coldness settling into the very marrow of his bones. He sucks in a tentative breath, and finds himself picturing sleeping curled up against Hajime, a comforting vision of tranquility locked somewhere within his mind’s eye. He pretends the pillow that he’s clinging onto is Hajime, and he snuggles it close to his body, wishing that it was half as warm as the real deal. 

Distantly, he feels disgusted with himself for being so pathetically needy and affectionate craving contact despite his omnipresent awareness that he deserves nothing, but it was all muted by the heavy fog of his exhaustion. He recognizes that he was feeling lonely without Hajime, as if he’d become acclimatized to the other boy’s presence despite only knowing him for about a day. 

He’d been fighting against his quiet desperation for so long, ripping himself apart along the seams of his very being into the half who desperately wanted to be comforted, and the half that knew he was a worthless leech who deserved to die alone and unloved. Being extended such wondrous, unwarranted kindness and being shown physical affection had swayed him toward giving into his baser urges; allowing his weakness to consume him and letting himself feel hopeful when he hadn’t earned it. 

He was already anticipating the despair that awaited him in the future in order to balance out his tremendous good luck, and he felt a twisted sort of excitement. He makes a silent wish that whatever misfortune befalls him is extremely agonizing for him; hoping that he’ll be able to redeem himself and not ensnare Hajime within his luck cycle. If the pain is excruciating enough to bring him back into a state of misery and delirium, it should counteract and potentially negate any harmful effects that Hajime might experience, and it would make him feel like much less of a cumbersome, useless burden. 

Despite everything, he still finds himself yearning for the warmth of Hajime’s strong arms coddling him like a child, the gentle lull of his voice as he hushed him, and the twinkle behind his hazel eyes. He knew that he could never see Hajime again for the sake of his safety and well-being, but the thought of it wounds him, and he recoils as though he was burned and locks his limbs around the pillow even tighter. The idea of forcefully severing himself from such a resplendent source of happiness is hurting his heart, his soul, whatever pathetic semblance of a life force that might be sustaining him; it aches beneath his ribs and howls within his chest. Pain is familiar to him, a ghost of his repressed feelings casting a long shadow over the wisps and embers that make up the fractured memories of his childhood. He’d weaned himself on flame and poison, so he should consider harm a comfort at this point, almost like an old friend. 

The fact that his sleepy brain is fighting against his common sense in order to reject this notion is alarming. He nuzzles the pillow to his face and imagines that the silk is actually the fabric of Hajime’s clothes, and that he’s being held ever so gently once again. For the first time in a very, very, long time, he finds himself reminiscing on the few moments of genuine catharsis in his life, and wishing he no longer had to be entrapped within his endless luck cycle. It was naive and quite possibly dangerous to be thinking that way, but his last thought as he drifted off to sleep is that he wanted to try and be Hajime’s friend. 

... 

He rouses when he hears the alarm on his phone blaring in his ear, and he swiftly turns it off and begins to get dressed for school. He feels genuinely well rested, which is a rare occurrence for him. He takes a five minute shower just so he can wash his hair, and towel-dries himself off. He puts on a pair of boxers, takes his school uniform out of the washing machine and tosses it in the dryer, then goes to wash his face while he waits for his clothes to be dry enough to wear. He likes to follow a skin care routine, even though it isn’t very elaborate. He considers himself to be hideously, unspeakably ugly despite any amount of effort towards maintaining his appearance, but he likes the sensation of his skin being soft to the touch. 

He cleanses his skin thoroughly as he can manage, and then moves on to brush his teeth. He glares at his reflection in the mirror as he does so, repulsed by the sight of his own face looking back on him. He forces himself not to dwell on it, because he’s caught himself falling into a deeply negative thought pattern by just staring at his reflection in the past, and he doesn’t have time for another episode right now. He gets to work brushing his hair as he goes to get his clothes out of the dryer, changing into his uniform rather quickly. He relishes in feeling the warm fabric against his skin, but the heat that had been generated by the dryer seems to wear off pretty quickly. 

Once he finishes brushing his hair to the point where he looks somewhat presentable, he gathers his things and starts heading out the door. He glances down at his phone, and notices a text notification on the screen. He finds himself feeling a little confused for a moment, as he never gets text messages from anybody, but remembers that Hajime had insisted on getting his number and checking up on him. He unlocks his phone and reads the message. 

“Hey, how are you doing today? I hope this morning has been treating you better so far.”

Nagito can’t help but smile, but he immediately chastises himself for it. He can’t keep leeching off of Hajime’s kindness and selfishly exploiting him for the sake of his own loneliness. It isn’t worth putting him in danger. 

“I slept pretty well, so I feel much better overall. I appreciate your concern, but you shouldn’t waste your time worrying about me.”

Nagito responds, hoping that he doesn’t come off as rude or dismissive. He doesn’t understand why Hajime is even bothering to talk to him anymore, and he doesn’t want to forsake his generosity, but he also doesn’t want to risk caring about him enough to get him caught up in his luck cycle. 

“Don’t say things like that... I am glad to hear that you are feeling better, though. I hope you have a good day!”

Nagito puts his phone in his pocket again, not trusting himself to reply right now. He’s pretty sure that he’s blushing, which is definitely an overreaction on his part. He finds himself thinking about the message non-stop as he walks to the school building, and he manages to focus on it until the second he sits down for homeroom. He lets out a sigh of lackadaisical bliss as he slumps into his chair, then promptly banishes the thought of Hajime from his mind. He needs to pay attention to his class work now, he can’t afford to get distracted. Chisa flashes him a smile as she notices him in the back of the room. 

“Good to see you back, Komaeda-kun! Make sure you meet up with me later to pick up any assignments you missed from yesterday.” 

He smiles and nods, feeling a slight tingle of shame at how patient she had to be with him. He missed class often due to reasons related to both his physical and mental health, and he was almost certain that Chisa knew about his diagnoses. She always prepared any work that he might have missed and gave him extra time to complete it, and although he was appreciative, he hated being such an inconvenience to her. 

He does his best to pay attention during her lecture, but his mind keeps wandering back to Hajime. He’s conflicted, and deeply confused about how he should approach the situation. He doesn’t understand why Hajime is still bothering to maintain contact with him, despite being privy to an ugly mental health episode. He should have easily realized that it wasn’t worth his time to coddle Nagito, and wash his hands of the whole affair as quickly as possible. He was worthless, after all, and he didn’t want to impose on anybody. Still, he was acutely aware that it would be rude to dismiss or ignore him. 

He forces himself to pay attention to her lesson, jotting down a few notes in an effort to distract himself. He’s able to focus well enough to comprehend what she’s talking about, and he’s managed to write down a well organized page of notes by the time the bell rings. 

He’s about to stand up from his seat when Chiaki approaches his desk, looking at him pointedly. She’s still grasping her Switch in her hands, but she seems to be trying to get his attention. 

“Good morning, Nanami-san! To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

He asks cheerfully, smiling warmly up at her. 

“I’m just checking up on you. My friend Hinata asked me to.” 

She replies simply, clutching her Switch to her chest and gazing down at him with a tilt of her head. 

“Ah, that’s very thoughtful of him... and you too, of course! You can tell him that I’m perfectly alright. I’m in high spirits!” 

He beams, reaching back to gingerly scratch at his head. 

“I’m glad to hear that. I’ll let him know. Take care, Komaeda-kun.” 

She offers him a tiny smile as she waves goodbye, swiftly unpausing her game and continuing to play. Nagito rides the high of their interaction for the rest of the day, fully distracted from any negative thoughts and even smiling to himself for no reason. It was so deeply considerate that they’d bothered to check up on him, he was honestly pretty moved by the gesture. He wasn’t used to being treated kindly by anyone, so taking the attention of both an Ultimate, and a very handsome boy was quite the luxury for him. 

He finds himself following this train of thought as he walks back to his dorm, but stops himself when he realizes he's regarded Hajime as handsome. It wasn’t an inaccurate description, but he was embarrassed that he would even think something so impudent. He supposed that it was in his repulsive, unworthy nature to be so clingy, but it was pretty shameful to get fixated on somebody else so easily. He finds himself debating whether or not he should distance himself from Hajime, but once he gets back to his dorm and checks his phone to see a few missed texts from Hajime, he’s easily swayed to the more dangerous side. 

They proceed to text each other back and forth quite frequently throughout the week, shifting seamlessly from interesting conversation to memes and pictures of cute animals. It’s good, and Nagito knows that it’s safer not to get attached to the good things in his life, but he can’t help himself. Although the constant attention is more than enough to keep his mood high, he puts a few more scars on his wrist when he gets too overwhelmed, just for the sake of balance. Pain is bad luck, so only good fortune can come in its wake, right? 

Once the weekend arrives, he’s considering studying as much as he can in order to make the most of it, but he finds himself distracted by Hajime once again. He’s trying to regain his bearings and focus on the task at hand, when he receives a text from him that almost makes his heart stop. 

“Hey, are you busy this afternoon? I was wondering if you wanted to visit a nearby cafe with me.” 

Nagito’s fingers are shaking as he types out his reply, not even stopping to consider before he agrees. He knows he’s been nothing but a nuisance, but it seems like Hajime still wants to be his friend, despite everything. His entire chest feels warm, like his heart is glowing and lighting up his rib cage. He drops all of his studying plans and spends his entire morning getting ready; showering, brushing every knot out of his hair, and picking out a decent outfit. He ends up settling on a band shirt, a pair of distressed jeans, and a heavy flannel jacket, and he smiles at his reflection in the mirror at the revelation that he looks semi-presentable. 

He waits around his dorm anxiously until the time they’d settled on arrives, and he still ends up leaving a bit early. He walks through campus and towards a nearby street, closely following directions on his phone. He shivers and rubs at his arms as he traverses the roads leading up to the place they’d settled on, taking his time to admire the scenery. He texts Hajime as soon as he arrives, only to see that he was already in the shop, admiring a case full of desserts and pastries near the register. 

“Hello, Hinata-kun.”

He greets quietly, approaching him with a friendly wave. Hajime turns around and smiles at him, and he feels his heartbeat trip over itself and his stomach flip upside down. He’s wearing an oversized gray sweater with black and white stripes, and high waisted jeans with the cuffs rolled up, and Nagito can’t help but think that he looks unspeakably attractive. He just seems so relaxed, and his outfit is so simple and cozy looking, and Nagito just can’t stop himself from staring for a bit. 

“Glad you could make it! I don’t know if you’ve been to this place before, but their desserts are really good. You can also get an actual meal if you’re really hungry, though.”

Hajime chimes, his face crinkling into an amicable expression. Nagito hums in thought, considering his options. 

“Well, I haven’t really eaten today, so I guess it would be better if we sat down and had a full meal.”

Nagito responds thoughtfully, and they proceed to sit down across from each other at a small table for two. They look over the menus for a few moments until a waitress approaches them. 

“Are you two ready to order?” 

She asks, her voice almost uncannily chipper. Hajime shakes his head, glancing at Nagito briefly before speaking. 

“I think we’ll need more time to look at the menu. We'll just get drinks for now, and I’ll get a basket of fries for the table.” 

She smiles and nods, listening attentively as Nagito orders a water, Hajime orders a diet soda. As soon as she leaves, Hajime scoots his chair a little closer to Nagito, pointing at something on the menu. 

“You should try the Caprese sandwich, it’s really good. Plus, it comes with a free side, which is a pretty good deal.”

Hajime eagerly recommends, hopefully not noticing the way Nagito flushes as he gets closer to him. 

“I’ll get that, then. What are you having?”

Nagito questions, folding his menu and setting it on the table. 

“I’ll probably just get a personal pizza. I’ve gotten that here a few times before, and it’s quite tasty.”

Hajime answers decisively, closing his menu and putting it on top of Nagito’s. They make small talk until the waitress arrives with their drinks and fries, and takes their orders. Nagito eats as demurely as he can manage, feeling a little nervous. 

“It might take a while until our food gets here, so until then, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you.”

Hajime announces, clearing his throat and adjusting his collar. Nagito takes a sip of his drink, and silent prays to whatever higher power might be out there that he isn’t sweating. 

“Oh?”

It’s all he can really manage, but he doesn’t want his anxiousness to show. He definitely isn’t used to this sort of thing, but he’s pretty sure that Hajime isn’t just setting up this elaborate scenario in order to tell him to never talk to him again. He would deserve that, of course, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle the disappointment without humiliating himself. 

“I know we’ve only known each other for like, a week, but I’ve really enjoyed talking to you.”

Hajime begins, his eyes trailing to the floor and glancing back up at him, almost as if he was nervous as well. Nagito’s face practically lights up. 

“I’m glad you were able to derive some benefit from my company! I’m not much, but I can always make for conversation.”

He trills, his voice taking on an airy quality. His white curls bounce as he unconsciously shifts closer to Hajime, almost overstimulated by the eye contact they’re making. 

“I feel like you’re selling yourself short by a wide margin. You’re always really nice, and you seem so eager to talk to me. It’s... pleasant, I guess.”

Hajime murmurs, visibly fidgeting with his hands. Nagito’s mood cycles up even further, a radiant smile framing his pale face. 

“As usual, your compliments are wasted on a useless piece of trash such as myself, but thank you, Hinata-kun!”

He chirps, drumming his hands on the table and sighing happily. Hajime tilts his head to the side, and flashes him a look he can’t quite place. 

“Are you sure you’re doing okay?” 

Hajime asks cautiously, hazel eyes fixed on him with naked concern. 

“Huh?”

Nagito gapes, immediately frustrated by his own confusion and inadequacy. Hajime exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in between his forefingers. 

“You’re still putting yourself down like that. I initially assumed that you said things like that because you were having a bad day, but you haven’t stopped talking so negatively about yourself. Do you always talk like that?”

Hajime asks softly, and Nagito feels himself shrink a little in his seat. 

“I’m just stating the truth! There’s no point in trying to deny it, and it would certainly be a pointless endeavor to convince you otherwise.”

“Convince me otherwise?”

Hajime echoes, folding his hands across his lap and looking vaguely lost. 

“You know, like... trying to convince you that I’m not the absolute scum of the earth? Or that I’m not an obnoxious, deluded burden on society? A disgusting, pathetic creep that latches onto other people’s kindness like some kind of leech?”

Nagito’s smile begins to feel more and more hollow the more he rambles on. Hajime looks mildly horrified by his behavior, and he resists the urge to scratch at his arms in an attempt to reopen fresh cuts.

“How can you say something like that so happily? Why would you even think that?” 

Nagito ponders the question for a moment. He thinks that maybe it’s because it’s the only inherent truth he’s ever known in his life. Despite the instability throughout the entirety of his pitiful existence, the only through-line was that every single one of his problems was caused by his intrinsic lack of worth. It was something he’d been born into, he’d clawed his way into the world with no reason or purpose, except possibly to be a blight upon the lives of everyone he knew. Whether it be through his luck, or through his own vices, he always managed to ruin everything remotely good in his life because of his own inherent, unforgivable worthlessness. It was easier to just admit to his repulsive nature up front, and expose himself as the absolute wretch that he truly was. 

“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve just been clinging to you because you’re the only person who’s ever been this nice to me. I’m just taking advantage of your kindness. I’m pathetic.”

He whispers, clutching at his upper arms in an attempt to ground himself. 

“I just don’t think it’s fair that you judge yourself so harshly. You say all these awful things about yourself, but I’ve only ever seen evidence to the contrary.” 

Hajime breathes, visibly distressed by what Nagito was saying. The white haired boy laughs in an attempt to understand the situation, but to no avail. 

“I should know better than anybody else exactly what I am.” 

He whimpers, his voice barely even audible. Nagito doesn’t understand why this feels so terrible. He wants to throw up until he purges the guilt from his system, somehow. 

“And what is that?”

Hajime asks, his hands poised in the air cautiously. 

“Disgusting. Ugly. Stupid. Broken. Obnoxious. Pitiful. Crazy. Unlovable. Hopeless.”

He manages to say, even if it’s hissed out through clenched teeth. Nagito is startled out of his thoughts by Hajime lacing their fingers together, prompting him to make eye contact. 

“It honestly breaks my heart that you feel that way about yourself. I shouldn’t keep beating around the bush with all this. I just need to come right out and say it.”

He pauses, gulping with anticipation and squeezing his hand tightly. Nagito is intrigued enough to not spiral back into a self loathing mantra, and nods shakily. 

“I really, really, like you.” 

He murmurs tenderly, with cheeks flushed cherry red. Nagito’s eyes widen in disbelief, mouth gaping open. He blinks a few times, as if trying to confirm the sight in front of him was real. Hajime was still looking at him with such gentleness and sincerity, and it sent excited tingles up and down his spine. 

“I mean, I thought that much was obvious. But you seem to be under the impression that I shouldn’t like you. I can’t pretend like I understand everything about you, but it’s clear to me that you’re really fucking intelligent, and you’re super passionate about what matters to you. And even if you strenuously disagree, I think that you’re, umm...”

Hajime trails off for a moment, before gathering his courage once again. 

“You’re incredibly pretty. Like... absolutely gorgeous. I’m not nearly as good with words as you are, but you look like a renaissance painting or something.” 

Nagito is dumbfounded, stunned into absolute silence for several moments. 

“But I’m just trash! Nothing but human garbage, a complete and total waste!”

Nagito blurts, unable to process the situation without hitting some major cognitive dissonance. 

“Well, this is pretty cheesy, but... don’t people often say that one man’s trash... is another man’s treasure?”

Hajime tries, his lips curling into a shy smile. Despite himself, Nagito laughs fondly; genuinely. 

“Oh man, that was really bad. You’re really something else, you know that, Hinata-kun?” 

Hajime just grins, and pulls their hands under the table once the waiter approaches with their food, still clutching onto him. Throughout the entire meal, Hajime is being flirty and complimenting him, and he can barely even focus on his food. When Hajime tells him that he has a beautiful smile, he doesn’t feel guilty anymore, just happy and a tiny bit embarrassed. When Hajime tells him that his hair is fluffy and adorable, his entire face goes bright red, and he squeezes Hajime’s hand under the table. Finally, when Hajime asks if he can be his boyfriend, he nearly chokes on his food. 

“If you’re really sure that’s what you want.”

Nagito rasps, hoping he doesn’t sound as emotional as he actually feels. 

“Nothing would make me happier.” 

Hajime reassures, and Nagito tears up a little bit as a sense of euphoric bliss overwhelms him. Once they finish their food, they decide to order their dessert to-go at the counter, and check out the local shopping center. As soon as they stand up from the table, Nagito almost tackles Hajime in a hug, to which Hajime laughs and reciprocates. They cling to each other tightly, almost aggressively; rocking each other back and forth and laughing all the while. Hajime leads Nagito over to the dessert showcase, pointing at the glass and giving him his best recommendation. 

“I’m gonna get kusamochi, because that’s what I usually get when I come here, but you should get the strawberry shortcake. It’s soft and sweet, just like you.” 

Hajime announces rather loudly. Nagito covers his blushing face with his free hand and giggles, nudging his head into Hajime’s neck. 

“You’re too much. That was the sappiest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Nagito clamors, trying to come across as pouty but only managing to sound flattered. 

“Ah, well. It’s embarrassing as hell, but you seem to like it. And if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Hajime croons, bumping their shoulders together playfully. Nagito braces his hand against the glass, laughing heartily without a care in the world. 

“You’re going to make me explode if you keep that up! You’re messing with my head!” 

He insists, his mind unable to keep up with the immense amounts of joy he was experiencing. He almost wanted to pinch himself, to make sure this wasn’t a dream, but if it really was one, he didn’t want to wake up. He ends up getting the strawberry shortcake that Hajime had suggested, and they go up to the register to pay. 

“I’ll take care of the cost for our stuff. I’ve got enough money, I can handle it.”

Nagito assures as he pulls a few bills out of his wallet and hands them to the cashier. Hajime seems a little hesitant, but ultimately agrees. They walk out of the cafe together, walking with their hands intertwined, and Nagito pulling their arms back and forth into a swinging arc. Once they’ve walked far enough to get away from any pedestrians near the cafe, Hajime stops them and pulls them to the side. 

“You look so adorable when you’re happy. I wanna keep making you smile like that.” 

Hajime breathes, and it sounds like a confession. Nagito just beams, shooting him the most radiant smile he can manage. 

“You’ve already made me happier than I could have ever possibly imagined. Happier than I’ve ever been in my life. I could never ask you for anything more.”

Nagito sighs dreamily, just enraptured in the sensation of nothing but unfettered joy. 

“I’m really bad about being subtle about this. What I mean is... well... can I kiss you?” 

Nagito nods so quickly that it hurts his neck, guided by eagerness and impulse. Hajime leans in and plants a soft kiss on his cheek, lovingly brushing aside his hair as he does so. Even though it was just a simple peck on the cheek, Nagito feels as if all of the blood in his veins is flashing bright, electric red. As soon as Hajime tries to pull back, Nagito throws his arms over Hajime’s shoulders and bursts into tears, sobbing into his neck and thanking him. 

“Did I upset you? If I did, I-“

“No, no, of course not! I’m just so happy that I can’t-I can’t- even comprehend it! You’re so wonderful, I seriously think I might faint...” 

Nagito bawls, burying his fingers into the fabric of his sweater and nuzzling his head of fluffy white hair into his shoulder. 

“D-do you want to sit down?” 

Hajime asks, his tone laced with worry. Nagito just sniffles and lets out a quiet laugh, and shakes his head. 

“No. I just want to hold you forever.” 

Nagito whispers, pulling Hajime even closer in their embrace. Even though it’s chilly out, Nagito feels like he’s soaking up all the sunlight in the world, and the radiance of Hajime’s gaiety is warming him from the inside out. After a few moments, Nagito reluctantly pulls away, wiping at his eyes and trying to collect himself. 

“I’m sorry for being such a mess. I’d hate to be a nuisance after you’ve been so kind to me, but I-“ 

“Hey, cut that out. There’s nothing wrong with being emotional. I’m not judging you, trust me.” 

Hajime promises, lacing their fingers together and bringing Nagito’s hand up to his lips, kissing his knuckles softly. Nagito nods and makes a mental note to stop putting himself down for the time being, because he doesn’t want to upset Hajime. The two of them explore the nearby shopping center, and Nagito feels compelled to buy Hajime a few of the things he seemed interested in while they were browsing. The hours pass by far too quickly, and a lot of the details are lost in the haze of Nagito’s poor memory, but he can recall how unbelievably happy he felt for the entire day. 

Once the sun starts to set, they decide that they should get back to campus before it gets dark. They take a selfie together with the sunset in the background, and start walking back to Hope’s Peak hand in hand, talking excitedly throughout the whole journey back. Hajime accompanies Nagito all the way back to his dorm, dropping him off at his doorstep and bidding him goodbye. 

“I had an amazing time. I’m totally open towards having a second date next week, whenever you might be available.” 

Hajime smiles, his eyes ablaze with eagerness and his voice chipper. Nagito giggles coyly as he unlocks his front door, turning around and facing him once he gets it open. 

“I would love that. Today was... just incredible.” 

Nagito readily agrees, his heart dancing and pounding gracelessly within his chest. Hajime looks embarrassed and apprehensive for a moment, before leaning in to quickly press a shy kiss against Nagito’s lips, his face turning beet red as he pulls away. 

“Goodbye, Komaeda. I’ll see you soon.”

He murmurs, waving over his shoulder as he starts to walk away. Once Hajime is out of sight, Nagito steps into his dorm and closes the door behind him, his legs immediately buckling as he slides against the door and crumples to the ground. He presses his palm up against his lips, savoring the lingering sensation of warmth that still remained. Once he regains his bearings, he pulls out his phone and sets the picture that they took together as his lock screen, and adds a heart emoji next to Hajime’s name in his contacts list. 

He’s singing to himself as he gets ready for bed, humming along to a tune he can barely remember the melody for as he changes into his pajamas and brushes his teeth. He flops onto his bed with a quivering sigh and draws the covers over himself, curling around that same pillow and swiftly drifting off to sleep. It normally took ages for him to be able to get some rest, but he was cheerful and relaxed, and there were no dark thoughts clouding his mind to keep him up. Whatever it is that he’s experiencing, it has to be hope in its purest, most divine form. It feels amazing. And right now, he’s hoping with all his might that his dreams will be filled with visions of Hajime as he finally slips into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m glad I was able to get this chapter out in time for Nagito’s birthday! I wish I could have also taken part in komahina week, but I already have so many fics on the backburner that I need to finish, so I just didn’t have the time. I hope this makes up for it, though. Happy birthday, Nagito! You deserve so much fucking happiness, you really mean a lot to me.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is going to be the first part in a multi-fic series, most likely. The second one will take place during the Neo-World Program, and the third is post-game. This is a very large undertaking for me, so I’m hoping I’ll have the motivation to see this through until the very end. Regardless, you all should buckle up, and prepare yourselves for an emotional rollercoaster. Shit’s gonna get heavy.


End file.
